Page 45 of Torch
“He hit me, and threatened me. He told me he’d wanted to ra… force… um… you know, but because my call went through he’d have to just kill me. We struggled, and he tried to uh… to strangle me, but I managed to kick him in the… in the groin-”
“That’s my girl,” Torch chuckled, kissing my temple again. Thank god he was here with me. His touch gave me courage, and his warmth and strength made me feel safe. Protected.
“I ran and hid in the garden, until I heard Torch yelling for me in the house. I knew I was safe then. I knew he’d save me.” I turned to look at him, so sad to see his eyes dark with sorrow, his long lashes framing them, as he lowered his gaze.
“I should have fucking been there. I was too late, or I could have ended that fucker right then. I get a crack at him. Promise me that.”
“You can get in line behind me, man. He took Elise, remember?”
Stitch grimaced and lifted a hand, bringing instant silence to the room again.
“Anything you can remember about him? Looks? Appearance? Voice? You said he wasn’t any of us, so there’s something that sets him apart from us all.”Smart man. I nodded, biting my lip as I tried to figure out how to word it, without somehow insulting them.
“He was big… uh, muscled, like a powerlifter or something. You guys are more athletically built, strong without bulk. Does that make sense?”
Ice groaned. “Fuck. Yeah, and you know else what it proves?”
Everyone looked resigned.
“Yeah. It wasn’t Tommy, so that poor bastard must be another of his victims.” They all lowered their heads after Stitch’s comment. I wondered who Tommy was, and what had happened to him. Clearly they had no idea either way.
Twenty-Three
Assoonastheywere done quizzing my lady, I took her and her bag of stuff to my room, locking us in together, and watching her as she stood in the middle of my small room, and looked around. Fuck. It was a fucking shit hole, and I could see her shoulders starting to tense at the mess.
“Babe, here’s what I want you to do. Take this bag of yours into the bathroom, grab a shower, and I’m gonna take care of this, right? It’s… I’m not normally in a mess like this. It just kinda happened after being away and stuff.” As in being stabbed and left for dead. Grace grimaced as she glanced at my bathroom door.
“I swear it’s clean in there. It’s safe, babe, I promise. I’ll get this squared away.” She finally, reluctantly, let me put her bag in the bathroom, and I pulled the door closed behind me. I was fucking torn really, because she might need me in there, but this mess was going to make sure she couldn’t relax when she came back out, and I needed her to feel relaxed. I needed her to rest up, and get some sleep.
I ran around the room, gathering up laundry that had ended up anywhere other than the small laundry bin, shoving it all inside and cramming the lid down. Wait. No, that was no good. I dragged the bedding off, and tried to cram it inside too, but it wasn’t going to fit, so some of it was shoved on top of the basket too. Fuck me. That wasn’t much better. I picked up everything else that lay where it shouldn’t, and took the few used mugs and stuff to the kitchenette, which was literally a hot plate, a sink, and some cupboards, oh and a small fridge, mostly filled with beer.
I washed up, and set the dishes to dry, and returned to make the bed, but by this time, I was more worried that Grace hadn’t reappeared, so I left the bedding stacked on the mattress, and tapped on the bathroom door. I couldn’t hear water running, and there was no crying or anything, but that didn’t mean she was okay. I pushed the door open enough to peer inside, and she was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, a bunch of clothes in her arms, staring at the floor. Aw my sweet baby. I kicked off my boots, and joined her in my small bathroom.
“Babe, can I help you get clean?” She lifted her head at last, her eyes dripping with silent tears.
“Torch,” she whispered, and I fucking got it. She didn’t need to say more, because I fucking got it. She nearly died tonight. She nearly got fucking murdered because of me.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” I said as I dropped to my knees in front of her.
“I know this is my fault, and I hate that it came anywhere near you. Can I help you get clean so you can come to bed? The room’s better, I promise. I just need to remake the bed.”
She shuddered. “I’m sorry I’m so weird. I’m trying.”
I took the clothes from her arms and lay them on top of her bag, pulling her up and into my arms.
“Nothing weird about you, babe, although you can be a filthy little minx at times. It’s one of the things I love about you.” Her head lifted, and her sad eyes met mine.
“Love?”
I nodded, stroking her cheek. “Yeah, babe. Love. You think I get this close to women? Something about you just fucking owned me. I’m yours, babe, but I understand if this isn’t what you want. Even without a serial killer, this club is still a rough boy’s club with occasional criminal behaviour.”
Grace let me undress her, and get her into my small shower cubicle, crying quietly while I gently washed her, keeping my boxers on, after shedding the rest of my clothes. After she was clean, I gently rubbed her dry with the only towel I had, helping her dress, and giving her the towel again to wrap around her hair.
Once she was done, I grabbed the small hand towel and tried to dry myself off. This is where having no hair pays off, because at least it was just skin to dry. I got mostly dry, and took her back out to my room, which looked better, but would probably never be good enough for someone with her need for organisation and control. Jesus, I was letting her down again.
“Let me just make the bed, babe, just wait here.” She followed me to the bed, making a huffy sound as she reached for the sheets.
“I’m not broken, Torch. I just needed to let it out, but I’m more than capable of making a damn bed.”
